


The Many Times Interrupted Work of Mairon

by an_evasive_author



Series: EggVerse [4]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe, Fluff, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-05-30 18:13:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19408669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/an_evasive_author/pseuds/an_evasive_author
Summary: Mairon does not remember when last he stepped outside his little workshop. He likes it that way;  Here he has control and peace. So why does his Master insist on dragging him out of there to go on errand runs?





	1. Horseshoes and  Knives

There was a list. Well, there where several, but only one concerned Mairon. He would work off that list and then Curumo or Mahtan or whoever had been tasked to deliver him a new one brought him fresh, never-ceasing work. Mairon liked it that way. He never had to step outside his familiar forge, never had to fumble through a conversation. He simply had to do what he did best.

Now was no different and he had already finished off a good chunk of things that had been in dire need of getting done. This time though something had been missing on there and Mairon would need to have a talk with Mahtan about putting the list together properly.

There was always somewhat of a routine in his work. He did not create new things, this surprised many when they learned that. Surely one of Aulë's most prized students frequently dazzled his master with new, never before seen works of genius ingenuity. No, Mairon would say in a short, clipped voice that promised the absolute intolerance of any kind of nonsense. His was to perfect the things already given.

Creating new things had been his brother's prerogative and passion. Mairon was... he supposed it would have been not entirely unjust to call him single-minded. He had not the mind of one who dreamed up new things. No, he perfected all that already existed; Streamlined production and balanced use until every piece was a work of art in its own right.

His work consisted usually of these points:

Reparations, though Mairon was no fan of those for the most part, from those who needed their ploughshares fixed or horseshoes mended.

Then new things needed to be made at a rate to support the elves living in their cities; Doorstops to keep the doors from slamming, plant hangers to decorate their homes, light fixtures to keep their candles and oil lamps; Hooks to hang mobiles over cribs, railings and nails. It never ended. He hardly minded, it gave him practice.

These where always on the list. Expect for this time; Now something was missing. Nary a mention of his usual fare, tableware had not been written down. Sensing misgivings on Mahtan's part, he helpfully began working on those after he had finished everything else. He rather did that then searching out the elf and reminding him to work diligently.

* * *

Mairon supposed he had made enough knives by now. Not the sturdy hunting knives Orome requested for his hunters; None of the hunters had any talent when it came to shaping, balancing and sharpening a perfect blade. Mairon had never seen one of Orome's ilk stand still for anything that was not stalking deer.

They traded them with the elves who ate solid things and did so on the daily. How very annoying that had to be. Mairon imagined himself working only to be interrupted by...what was it they called it? Hunger? Annatar had told him once but Mairon had nearly forgotten... Well, it was not as if it truly mattered. He had never possessed this strange fascination with elves as his brother had.

Mairon turned his head, saw that the pile of finished yet still dull knives reached up to his knees and turned to his anvil. He could get started on the forks right away, he supposed.

But the knives needed to be sharpened and he could only unload so much of his chores on the newer apprentices before they would grouse and Aulë would step in and tell Mairon to finish his own work. Aulë had skewed priorities like that. Why should Mairon spent his valuable time doing things others where obviously better suited to do?

Very well, knives now, forks later. Spoons after that but he _hated_ those, they where so terribly dull. No matter, it needed to be done.

* * *

Even though the grindstone was not quiet, Mairon could hear the intruder from the moment they entered. He did not turn around, his focus on the knife pressed against the rough surface of his whetstone, not minding the sparks spraying up and away from the squealing metal.

Someone was making noise, sweeping up his work as they went-- There was the tell-tale _chink_ of someone rapping their finger against the blade. And it was not even a sharp one, those lay next to Mairon, already stacked neatly into piles ready to be packed away.

There was the clearing of a throat, polite, certainly. And yet to Mairon it might as well have been nails grating over slate. He gritted his teeth and dearly, sincerely wished to be left alone.

The intruder made to inhale, perhaps to speak.

“ _What_?!” snapped Mairon as he whirled around, fully prepared to unleash fire and brimstone on whoever _insisted_ on disturbing him again. The grindstone now behind him slowed but not yet halted as its momentum ran out.

He was met with the embroidered robes of his master, who stood so close that Mairon could see the tiny imperfection where a stitch did not line up entirely. Despicable; Who had tried to clothe his master in such inferior refuse?

Oh right, Aulë was standing there still. Mairon lifted his head to stare up at his master.

“Why hello, Mairon. Busy again, I see?” Aulë said and smiled down at his Maia, wholly unperturbed by Mairon's outburst.

Mairon, not a Maia of many words, nodded mutely and was now wholly out of ideas what to do next. So he turned away to continue his work.

Aulë did not let him, however, and Mairon found himself caged in Aulë's unfairly superior reach. Since his master was also far taller, his arms crossed under Mairon's nose.

“May I ask, my diligent student, what it is you are doing?”  
  
“ _Shrpn' knis_ ',” Mairon muttered from between Aulë's arms, dutifully answering even though his mouth was full of embroidered fabric.

Chuckling, Aulë brought one of his hands to Mairon's head and patted it, ruffling red hair and bringing it out of its neat braiding.

“Ah yes,” said Aulë, undeterred, “Polishing off the work I set aside for the new apprentices,” said Aulë and chuckled.

Mairon, torn between terrible, horrible fluster and the desire to be petted, did not move. But he did raise his head and nearly got smacked in the face when Aulë brought his hand down once more. Then Aulë inspected the knife he had plucked from the pile and held it out for Mairon to see. “Marvellous work, as always. Very good, Mairon."

Even though by this point Mairon could not even hope to count the number of knives he had made; The praise made him feel so very warm. Yes, this knife would be kept to remember the praise by it.

But Aulë was not done talking. “Mairon, I do believe you are above making basic cutlery by now,” said Aulë and drew his arms away, yet his gaze never left his student. Mairon lowered his head, once again tongue tied for he knew not what to say.

Aulë himself seemed to have quite a lot to say and so he did. “In light of this, perhaps it is time to advance your studies further.”

The words that would have send every single one of Aulë's pupils into boundless excitement; Mairon was no different. Warmth spread through his being and he could barely keep his bearings. “Master--”  
  
“Hush,” said Aulë gently before the stammering could start. He gave his flustered student a while until words where found that made sense.

Mairon nodded and for once all thoughts of smithing took on a more abstract sort of importance in Mairon's thoughts. Not the immediate work that needed to be done, but the prospect of something new. “When shall we begin?”  
  
Still smiling, Aulë began herding his pupil towards the door. “Ah, yes, it is why I had your schedule cleared. We must depart at once if we wish to get the supplies needed in a seasonable manner.”

“Supplies? Where to?” Mairon asked as Aulë took his heavy apron from him. It had been so long since Mairon had parted with it, the missing weight of it made him feel as if he would float away. Now equally as excited as he was confused, he looked to his master for guidance.  


“Why of course. Iron and brass will not work for this lesson of yours. So come along now.”

“I see...Very well,” said Mairon and made to turn towards the stairs that led outside.

“Mairon, where are you going?” Aulë called as he hung Mairon's apron on the hook next to the door of the workshop.  
  
Mairon turned, surprised, “To the fields?” Every Maiar of Aule knew the fields; Many even used them themselves. It was generally ill-advised to simply blast off where they stood, especially if there was a ceiling above them. For this purpose the scorched, cracked earth behind the forges was generally used as a landing and starting place for all those who had mastered the power of propulsion powered flight.  
  
But Aulë waved him off with a smile and inclined his head towards the hallway that led to the main entry, “Oh no no. No, Mairon, we will go by foot.”

Mairon groaned at that before he could stop himself and slapped a hand to his mouth as if he could snatch the sounds out of the air.

Aulë laughed. “You have worked and now you will take time off,” he said and began shoving Mairon in front of him and along the polished floors. The Maia, forever inferior against the fantastic might that Aulë possessed, yelped in surprise as he was pushed along. “Come,” said Aulë, “it has been so long since we walked together.”

Mairon could indeed not remember when last he had followed his master, when they had walked side by side. All Mairon remembered with crystal clarity was work. Working the forges and the anvils, pouring over sketches and instructing apprentices.

He had trouble remembering faces of those he did not work with often.

Perhaps it would be nice to simply walk. Just for a little while.

And so they did.


	2. Orome

Mahtan, already briefed on Aulë's plans, stood near the gate to see them off. The elf's expression was unreadable to Mairon who remained just a step behind Aulë as the Vala imparted a few last instructions.

“And do try to take some time off; When last did you visit your daughter. Sometimes, I swear,it feels like you two try to out-overwork yourself,” said Aulë and gave both Mahtan and Mairon pointed looks.

Both Elf and Maia gave long-suffering sighs, “Yes, master.”

Aulë, unaware or uncaring to the tired groans of his students, continued. Mahtan nodded at each one, scribbled some down and finally shooed the both of them out.

Mairon carried with him only the key of his workshop, for he would be damned before anyone would get in there without his permission, and followed Aulë towards wherever it was they where headed.

* * *

Valar possessed no concept of time like a mortal might have. Immortals and most of all the Valar found time not to be an obstacle nor something looming in the distance.

There where seasons and there was light and dark that bled into one another like ink and milk. Things happened and there was nothing in-between. Mortals measured the nothing in between happenings and felt their own mortality breathing down their necks.

The Maiar where much like the Valar. Well, usually. But even so Mairon felt restless not long after they had left. Indeed, he could see the mighty furnace fires in the distance still. He felt as if he was wasting time he could be using to make thinks in favour of fetching materials.

This was not and should not be his chore to do. Nothing that was not directly tied to his proficiency with the hammer should be.

Aulë, perhaps feeling his student's distress, lay a comforting hand to Mairon's shoulder and squeezed it lightly, “Take heart, Mairon.”

“I try, master,” replied Mairon and sighed. His hands flexed and relaxed, unused to the lack of his hammer's weight. He missed the spontaneity of thought, his own monologue had been his constant companion. Communicating felt so terribly slow and frustrating. ”Might I ask where we will be travelling to?”

“Of course you may,” laughed Aulë, “Have I ever forbidden you to speak?”  


They walked for a while, under trees and along the meandering path in what Aulë no doubt interpreted as comfortable silence. He wore a smaller form now; No longer the mountain-like statue from before. Perhaps to be a little closer to Mairon who was rather slight in comparison. Or perhaps it was so Aulë did not get slapped in the face by all the branches that hung above them.

Finally, Mairon turned his head towards Aulë again. “Well?”  
  
“Well, what?” asked Aulë, eyes not leaving the path before them.  
  
“I asked you where we will be going,”Mairon reminded him.  
  
“Why, of course you may _ask_ me,” Aulë grinned and ruffled Mairon's hair, “I never said I would answer.”  


Outmanoeuvred, unable to retort with a clever comeback and feeling rather foolish, Mairon swallowed his surprised ire and continued walking. Yes, he only needed to concentrate on that. Such was routine. It was safe and it was known and soon Mairon had fallen into a steady rhythm.

Until Aulë, now a good few paces behind, hurried to catch up to him. “You needn't go quite that fast!” called Aulë and quickened his pace until they walked side by side again.

There was silence once more, broken only by the sound of rustling leaves. “Let me make it a surprise,” Aulë requested when this time Mairon seemed to be quite a bit too peeved. “See it as part of your lesson. Patience, Mairon.”  
  
“I am plenty patient,” Mairon protested and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“Only for the things you want.”

Mairon did not reply and merely fumed to himself. But he did remain at Aulë's side and did not storm off once more.

They walked without the need for breaks. Silver and gold traded their positions as the land around them changed from fields and orchards to linden and sycamore trees. The quarries and mines became sparser, until the land became wild and untouched.

It became rather apparent when they crossed into Orome's domain.

The trees shot into the sky, towering, mighty giants where before there had been dainty plants to decorate their path.

Now they swallowed the light until only twilit fingers poked through the greenery now and again, their crowns looming high above. Moss obscured the way until only a thin little footpath remained traversable between earthy forest loam. Even the warm, balmy breeze turned to the earthen scents of decaying leaves as low mist licked at their ankles.

It would have been easy for Aulë to widen the path, to force light into the dusky half-gloom. But to intrude Orome's control for their own comfort would have been terribly rude.

Eyes stalked their every move from between the brush, always out of sight. Deer jumped across the path in front of them and a wolf with a bloody hare between its jaws gave them a sideways glance before vanishing once more.

A woodpecker sounded through the forest with a long reverberating echo.

“Well,” said Aulë who now stood out like a bonfire in the night, ”Shall we get going? It would be quite poor manners to pass through without saying hello.”

Mairon –for what other choice did he have?-- followed dutifully.

* * *

Orome had them in his sight long before they drew close. He had known of their arrival the moment they crossed the invisible borders to his realm.

And so the path suddenly opened in front of them, opening up like wide gates to welcome them into the clearing in which Orome resided.

It was a massive open space, nearly circular. Moss made way to grass and wild flowers, except where the remnants of bonfires had scorched their marks into the earth. A stream passed through, babbling animated as it went along.

The large, shaggy hounds, a dozen of them and all stretched out lazy, some with their bellies turned to the sky, took a little longer. They turned around or sniffed the air, yet none barked nor growled as both Aulë and Mairon made their way into the middle of the clearing.

Leaning his back against the only tree, a mighty oak, Orome watched them approach. There was no grand greeting, no booming calls and no laughter of which Orome was usually so fond of. The pile of sleeping children next to him might have largely contributed to this. Little Maiar and Eldar, all clumped close together,safe under Orome's ever watchful gaze.

“Ah, a new addition to the pack again?” Aulë remarked after greetings had been exchanged, “Mighty small, these ones.”  


Orome's lips pulled into an amused grin, exposing the wickedly sharp fangs he decorated this form with, “Nay, not yet. They are rather too small just yet.”

“It is salmon season and so I guard those that cannot yet catch fish.” he inclined a hand towards the pile. One of the children, a tiny elf who lay on top of the clumped together pile, stretched, nearly toppled, and returned to sleep. “Not that they do not try; I tire of pulling them out of the river. So I remain and I guard.”

“A noble duty,” Aulë nodded and sat next to Orome before patting the ground at his side, “Come sit with us, Mairon.”  


Orome watched Mairon amused as the Maia made his way over and sat in a huff.

“Aye, well, it is not merely duty that keeps me here,” Orome confessed and sniffed the air. Whatever it was he scented, he seemed satisfied, for he settled again.  
  
Aulë tilted his head, “Oh?”  
  
The hunter shrugged, “Aye. I was never very fond of fish... But what can I do, they need a balanced diet I was told.” A sneering scoff, “What is so wrong with venison, I ask?”

“I, dear friend, am the wrong Ainu to ask.”

Mairon had already written the Valar's conversation off as background chatter. He had nothing to do but wait this inane twaddle out. He longed for his anvil, for his forge.

* * *

So engrossed in feeling sorry for himself, Mairon did not even notice when Aulë spoke to him. Indeed, the hand on his shoulder spooked him and he nearly jumped to his feet. But he did remain quiet.

Orome grinned, because of what Mairon could not hope to glean, having missed the conversation, “I can see from whom he has it.”

Aulë laughed, “We cannot all be perfect, divine fools that we are.”

“Speak not so harshly,” said Orome, “Instead, why not stay for the feast? I sense my hunters returning, half their bounty devoured already, I bet. We will be good company.”  


“I fear we cannot,” Aulë said and inclined his head. “We must continue our errand run. Mairon is getting restless by now; I have dawdled far too long and abused my student's patience.” To Mairon, “Shall we be going? “

Mairon nodded and followed Aulë. They bade the huntsman farewell and made to continue their journey through the forest.

Orome watched them go, an amused glint in his wolfish eyes as he soothed one of the children who came awake. His will chased ahead of them, widening the path for the both of them to be able to walk side by side.


	3. Anger

What could have been companionable silence swiftly turned to awkward uncommunicativeness. Aulë, who was not quite so well versed in the ways of social interactions, though to be fair, neither was Mairon, made an attempt at breaching the ever-widening gap that yawned between them.

“I cannot help but feel that you are cross with me,” Aulë remarked long after they had left the forest behind them. This was not Orome's realm any longer and the untamed wildness had given way to endless flowerbeds. It was one of Yavannah's gardens. Flowers waved their blooms cheerily in the tender breeze, a myriad of colours all pouring together to make a true spectacle. In the distance, a gaggle of elves picnicked. They wore cheery colours, flower crowns decorated their heads and had been woven into their hair. Though Aulë did not recognize them, he knew them to be affiliated with his wife.

They had not yet spotted them and instead continued with braiding daisy chains whilst they sat among endless colours.

Mairon had no eye for such beauty any longer and with every moment out here and away from the things Mairon _knew,_ it became even less. Now that the final threads of his patience where ground into non existence, he did something he had not done in nearly as many centuries as he truly cared to remember.

He gave lip. “No, _really_? Master, what could have brought you to _such_ a far-fetched conclusion?” Mairon asked through gritted teeth. Whatever good mien he had possessed had all but vanished, gone, blown away in the face of never ending stupidity.

He felt terrible, inside and out which was quite the feat, considering he had never felt any physical pain of this kind. Amazing, his master _truly_ had such _sights_ to show Mairon.

He walked, though it proceeded rapidly into stomping, outright driving his heels into the earth beneath him to vent some of that fast-mounting frustration. Some flowers got ground into the dirt but Aulë stilled

Aulë said nothing, though some of that good cheer had vanished. Now he looked pensive and crestfallen, not that Mairon had any eye for it. Aulë remained silent, maybe thinking of something to say or perhaps not. He did not know and Mairon no longer cared.

It was strange, feeling ready to explode at what would surely be the next senseless comment. Mairon almost dared his master to say something so Mairon could really let Aulë have it.

The group had noticed them. And even worse, Aulë had noticed _them_.

Another delay! Another roadblock in this never-ending farce! Mairon felt nauseous at the very thought of wasting even more time.

They bounded towards Maia and Vala, nearly prancing. The two maidens held their dresses lightly gathered up so they could keep up with their companions. Already they greeted the two with carefree greetings.

Aulë, who held a special fondness for the pupils of his wife, laughed and turned to welcome them.

Mairon did not hold as much good cheer and so _his_ greeting came out rather less polite. “ _Sod off_!” Mairon called and made to give his exclamation the necessary weight by scaring them away. There was the acrid smell of smoke, the first wisps of flame about him.

He had done so many times back home; When the youngest students liked to dare each other to rouse Mairon's ire by annoying him. He would throw fire and fume quite terribly.

The elves ignored his comment. They ignored him; The one time Mairon demanded to be listened to and have his decision matter. Had he not always done as he had been told? Always worked what had been demanded and never slacked off? Was this to be the reward? To be used when needed and disregarded when not?

With that Mairon's last nerve had been trampled to dust. Anger, like he had not felt in centuries consumed him like wildfire and some part felt just as fearful as he was angry now. It had been so long that he had lost control.

He did so now, utterly and completely.

Heat flickered about him, gathered before him like a wall before he stuffed it all down into a compressed ball of shimmering, insane heat. It turned glowing red and finally a blinding, terrible white that promised utter destruction.

The elf finally did shy back, not at all playful anymore. They huddled together, shrank away but did not yet run.

It all happened so fast. So fast that he was not even certain what exactly he wished to do with it. Flinging it at the elves would surely do not much good... Now that he finally had their attention, he truly was at a loss what next to do.

He never got the chance to make a decision.

Aulë wrenched his wrist away, gripping at his hand so hard that Mairon was forced to release the concentrated white-hot plasma. It shot harmlessly into the sky like a rising sun and finally detonated far above them. Now the elves did in fact flee before the calamity could rain down on them.

But to Aulë and Mairon it held no danger and so, when fire rained down around them, destroying the carefully, lovingly tended flowers, Aulë glared down at his student. With the fires behind him, not much of the usual tenderness of Aulë remained. He looked quite dreadful now.

Hurt, confused, angry, but most of all terribly afraid, all of it was far too much and Mairon keened. He ripped his arm free and stumbled backwards, away from Aulë who towered over him.

Mairon snarled and once more his fire roared to life. It wrapped around him and he fled into the sky, away from Aulë whom he had trusted, away from Aulë who had done nothing but drag him around without ever telling him where to.

Away from the mockery. But he could not simply turn and head back to the forge. He could not and he did not want to.

He did not know what would have been worse; Aulë following him or not caring enough to pursue.


	4. Cave

Contemplating his mistakes was something Mairon exceeded at.

He had really mucked this entire thing up now, hadn't he? Of that there was no doubt and now Mairon -- no longer angry-- instead felt only a lingering, nagging pinch of shame. Well, that and muted disgust at his surroundings.

His flight had carried him a good while, far away from Yavannah's burned garden and Aulë's angry, disappointed glare at the very least.

Mairon had always feared to disappoint Aulë. And now he had done just that to the highest degree. Foolish, stupid Mairon who tossed blazing fire at those he did not like.

The only logical conclusion now, of course, was to exile himself. He had made the decision for Aulë and had veered away on his way to the smith. He had been flying, fleeing, really. Up until he had found a spot where he could mope around in peace.

Though it was not the comfort of his home, Mairon supposed it was not half bad. Certainly, the cave he had taken shelter in was dank and dark and smelled quite musty. Bats squeaked somewhere deep within and it was somewhat uncomfortable to sit upon such dirty ground.

But it was not all bad. Really it wasn't. It had about as much flair as Mairon's private room; At least Mairon supposed so; He hardly remembered it.

When last had he even stepped inside his quarters?

And of course the greatest argument for the cave; He found it was far better than being scolded by Aulë. Most things where, in fact, better than being scolded.

Alone and feeling lonely, nothing to distract himself with, he thought of Annatar somewhere across the ocean. Was his brother feeling like an idiot too? Mairon doubted that very much; Annatar had never been self-conscious like this. Never worried about the opinions of others. Mairon had always envied him.

He pulled his knees up to his nose and curled into a ball where he sat. He had already thrown away his dignity by opting to live in a cave, he was entitled to sit here like a stubborn child.

* * *

He was not alone for very long. Days at the very most. But of course Aulë had searched for him as he had always done.

Mairon knew when his master had found him, Aulë had a way of making his presence known.

Everyone from miles around would have seen Mairon's flight.

It would be nearly impossible to ignore his master. Outside the air flickered as Aulë descended and landed on the plateau where the entrance of the cave was situated. The rock underneath him melted slightly.

“You did not even give me time to apologise.” said Aulë when he landed. The stone outside the mound of the cave, superheated by the sheer force of Aulë's might, glowed cherry-red.

“Go' _way_.” Mairon mumbled from between his knees. His head remained firmly planted and he would not look behind him, no matter how much he wished to.

“I will not,” said Aulë as he made his way into the cave. The Vala had to watch for his head, pulling it in closer as to not scrape against the rough stone above. It would not do to chip the ceiling, after all.

Mairon huffed and scooted in a half-circle until he sat turned away from the mouth of the cave, too ashamed to face his master. He dimly remembered a time where he had been small; Well, smaller than he was now. Less wise of the world, though that part could be argued, where he had still believed that hiding his gaze from things he disliked meant he was invisible as well.

How naïve he had been...Sometimes it made him sick to think about his youth.

* * *

For a while they sat like that, not speaking. Merely with the light glowing at their backs, watching their shadows wander.

Eventually Mairon _did_ speak and the words where just as hard to come by as they always where. But he felt as if they needed to be said.

“I--Sorry.”

Aulë turned by the barest of degrees, just enough so he could see Mairon without merely glancing sideways. “There is nothing to be sorry about, Mairon. At least not when it comes to me.”

Mairon flinched as he thought about the meadow he had scorched. How much damage had he wrought in his careless fury? A hand patting his head tore him from his thoughts and he squeaked in surprise.

Aulë sighed, long and slow, “It seems I was too hard on you; Mistakes where made on my side.”  
  
“I ruined everything; My lesson, our journey...All of it.” Mairon said from between his knees. Red hair obscured his face until Aulë brushed on of the tresses behind a gracefully pointed ear.  
  
“You have not,” Aulë said, “If you still wish for it, we can continue. We can even take to the air, if that suits you better.”

“I... am not certain,” Mairon hesitated. When Aulë looked at him with what the Ainu most likely thought was meant to be reassuring but only looked wounded, Mairon shook his head and clarified. “I- don't know if I deserve a reward.”

“Oh,” Aulë said and laughed relived, “If it is about that, you needn't worry.” At Mairon's confused look, Aulë smiled, “I—well, ah, you could say I had hoped to lure you out of your workshop for a little while.”  
  
Mairon turned and suddenly the head pats increased slightly in intensity and speed, as if Aulë tried to hurry along his thoughts before Mairon would bolt again after being faced with this new revelation. It was a fair assumption, Mairon could grant him that. But this time he would stay, if only because he wished to be petted.

Aulë went on, “I will be honest with you, Mairon. I should have been from the very start. You deserve my honesty, truly you do--”

“Master, I get it,” Mairon said. But he did not pull away from the contact.

Aulë hummed, “Of course; But this is rather hard for me to say...”  
  
“Master...”

“I...” Aulë said, “I admit that I, perhaps, in my haste to set my idea into motion, I acted too hastily. But once I visited your brother, it became abundantly clear that your separation from Annatar left you far more lonely than usual.”

Mairon found sudden interest on the ground, “I am fine. Was fine. I still am fine,” he assured. Though he was not sure any longer _whom_ he reassured. “I am not alone. Sometimes I wish for it; The younger students get into my workshop.”

Aulë hummed, “Perhaps not, no; You never _did_ enjoy the company of others. Well, I would like to imagine you did not mind my company.”  
  


“Of course not!”  
  


“In any case, out of the two of you, it was always Annatar who enjoyed crowds. And who subsequently dragged you with him.”  
  


Mairon remembered that. Even if he would forget, he would only need to look at the deep groves his fingernails had left in the doorframe in his stubborn attempts to resist getting dragged away to meet other people. Good times. He felt the corners of his mouth pull upwards into a smile.He brought his fingers close and touched his lips. It had been some time since he had smiled like this.

“Yes,” Aulë said and smiled just like Mairon, no doubt remembering a fond memory as well. But all too soon his mien turned serious again. “I—seem to have left your socialisation largely up to your brother. And when he left...I left you alone; Hoping it would all turn out well.”  
  


“I am fine...” Mairon said and cringed at the sudden listlessness in his voice. He cleared his throat but could not summon the will to repeat his words. Instead he leaned against Aulë who pulled him closer like he had when Mairon and Annatar had been little more than children. “Tell me of my brother, please?”  
  


“Oh?”  
  


“I never even noticed that he was gone...”  
  


Aulë hummed, “He has done marvellously for himself. All that he desired he has found.”

They stayed like this for a while, with Aulë talking and Mairon listening, truly listening without retreating back into his thoughts.

And then, some time later, they emerged and continued their journey. Mairon did not ask where they where heading. Instead he enjoyed the balmy air and the presence of his master next to him


	5. Lessons Learned

High above, perched on the mountainside like a lily grasping itself to a tree, stood Ilmarin like crown jewel.

Mairon, very proud of himself that he had seen the entire journey through without whining about where they where going, beheld the palace's cosmic scale; The onyx and marble all seamlessly blending together into one whole and sighed longingly. Such artistic mastery, the way the materials had been joined into coherent perfection. He marvelled and swooned until Aulë gently prodded him onwards. “Come Mairon, you can wonder better up close.”

Would he ever be able to create such beauty, something as awe-inspiring as the starry palace before him?

Hopefully. Though if he would ever design something like this, he would make less stairs.

He could easily vault them in flight, as could Aulë, but it was rather impolite to melt the stairs and scorch the floors with unseemly marks. And so they climbed it like polite guests should.

Mairon wondered at the purpose of their visit, the Starqueen and her Maiar where not well-known for any manner of crafting safe the esoteric ones. Song-smithing and star-charting was not something Mairon was all to familiar with and so he turned his questioning gaze towards his master who's steps had become more and more eager as they neared their destination.

Aulë smiled a wide, elated smile and could not hide it from his student who watched him. Seeing Aulë so boundlessly exultant was quite infectious and Mairon found himself terribly curious at what might happen.

The meaty flapping of mighty wings above them could be heard as Maiar entered and left the perimeters. Not all of them made sound as they zipped far above them, sometimes only a shadow gave any indication that there had been a traveller at all. Those, with owlish silence and stars in their wings where Varda's Maiar and they glided past Aulë and Mairon with detached, disinterested aloofness.

Those, the ones who flapped and zoomed and zipped, some waving at the visitors below others playfully diving to greet, where Manwë's followers.

Well, there where always exceptions, of course.

Mairon felt the feathers of a wing brush past him as the last greeter vanished back into the golden sky.

He felt no resentment at the sight. Perhaps he would have before, at the prospect of getting this all over with faster. But he felt only calm tranquillity and peace.

It greatly helped that they did not tire while they climbed. Many a bold adventurer had been turned away by the prospect of climbing a few thousand stairs.

Instead he watched the world beneath them shrink with every step. How curious, how wide and endless. He had forgotten how vast the world was outside his four walls.

* * *

“Ah,” said Aulë as he watched something in the distance, “It appears Mahtan has a visitor.”

When he did not elaborate who that visitor might be, Mairon decided to let it rest. Instead he enjoyed the view, endless lands and oceans all laid out before them like a vivid painting.

The air had turned from a warm breeze to thin, biting ice. But Mairon was not bothered and simply took in these fresh sensations. Aulë, too, stole glances from time to time and smiled at the land shrinking below them.

The great gates stood open when they reached the top of the stairs, inviting them in.

Maiar could be seen flitting about the twilit palace. The sound of the winds outside faded to a peaceful silence, undisturbed and calm.

Aulë led Mairon through the corridors without fail. And then they stood before the throne room.

Every little Maiar became nervous at the prospect of meeting the queen, such was normal. And in the face of Varda who towered before them as they entered, he was a very small Maiar indeed. She held no elflike form like Aulë who bowed deeply before her. Mairon, too, went down on his knees before his thoughts had caught up with him.

Varda's form was that of a titan, her hair like the endless night sky. Eyes alight like the stars themselves. And then she smiled.

“Visitors, what a rare occurrence indeed. How quaint to know the stairs where not build in vain.” said Varda when the two pulled themselves back from their reverent greeting. Her voice sounded not unlike a thousand silver bells that seemed to be everywhere at once.

Mairon felt, if anything, even smaller now, in the face of such immenseness.

Around them, in the elegant twilight that bathed the throne room in calm violets, hundreds of stars glittered. But Mairon knew better; They where eyes. The eyes of Varda's Maiar who carried the lights of the stars within their gaze. Hidden away in the gloaming, they where nearly invisible, safe for the twin silver lights.

They watched them, curious perhaps. Or mayhap they wished to stay close to their queen in the presence of these strangers. With their queen they where safe after all. Mairon could relate and he scooted a little closer to Aulë.

Varda looked down at them and smiled, “Aulë, how nice of you to visit. It has been so long.”

  
Aulë nodded, “It has, my queen. I have been finding myself rather busy as of late. Annatar has build a family and I wished to visit.”

  
Varda nodded her approval, “Tell me of the purpose of this journey? Surely you have not visited simply to say hello?”

The Ainu, flustered, stumbled over his next word but returned to his usual sureness right away. “ _Yes_ , yes your grace. I apologise,” he said.

“Nonsense, what can I do for you, dear friend?” she asked.

Aulë smiled and brought a hand to Mairon's shoulder. “I am here because of my student.”

Varda seemed to take notice of the other visitor. “Ah, Mairon, have you ventured out of your workshop? How has the world been treating you?” the queen asked.

Mairon squeaked and before he could think, he had taken shelter behind Aulë.

The queen laughed, “I see, still as shy as my own.”

Aulë twisted around and rubbed Mairon's back until the Maia shuffled back out again, blushing sheepishly. “We are working on that.”

“Very well. Your request?”

Aulë nodded, “I am here to ask for a star.”

“Oh?” Varda hummed, the sound reverberating quietly like a chorus until it faded.

“Yes, well, a small piece of one perhaps. Mairon has mastered all the materials in this world. So I thought it wise to expand his expertise to the terrestrial ones. But I would of course never presume to harvest your belongings without your permission ”

“Ah, and so you have come here, well, I do pride myself in my aim, that is true.” Varda mused. “It should be an easy feat to deliver you a piece right to your doorstep.”

“Well, perhaps not directly on the front porch, I still wish to use the door.” Aulë said.

Varda giggled, “But of course. Then there is of course only the question of payment.”

“Whatever it is you desire.”

Mairon listened to their talk attentively. And so this time he did not miss the praise nor the implications his master had presented.

A star.

The unique materials found only within the pieces of cooled stone drifting through space, soaked in the endless song that hummed the universe.

Sometimes little bits would come down, those that did not fizzle out would be gathered and used. But such was rare, Varda allowed none of her meteors to fall willy-nilly.

And so meteorites where so rare that only Aulë used them.

His cheeks felt quite warm at the thought.

Varda bowed her head, “I shall take you up on that offer; I wish for a simple thing. So tell me, what have you learned on your journey?”  
  
Aulë looked up, “Your grace?”

Varda smiled and leaned back in her mighty throne, “We are not unchanging. Can we, gods that we are, claim to have crossed a river coming out the other side remaining the same? You have changed, learned something; Tell me of it.”

Aulë considered this, “Your grace, I know now that I have left one of my wards, my pupil, to himself when I could not glean what to do about it. I know now to stay with him when he needs me, even when he does not tell me.”

Varda smiled and laid her hands together, “Very well.” To Mairon, “And you, dear one? How have you changed on your way here?”

Oh, Mairon felt compelled to simply hide behind Aulë again. But his master nudged him gently forward until Mairon stood in Varda's gaze.

It was so very hard not to feel as if she saw all and everything about him. He swallowed thickly. “I-” he tented his fingers together, “I learned that I have a nephew. And a brother-in-law. And that Ulmo sent salmon to Orome's followers. I learned that I should not throw fire at elves and the cave north from here is terribly insulated.”  
  
Varda listened patiently as Mairon rambled on, not interrupting. Only when Mairon had run out of things to say did she lean down until she was nearly at Mairon's height. “Very good,” she praised and smiled at Mairon's flustered meeping. “I am satisfied, now, to fulfill your request.”

* * *

They watched Varda deliver on her promise.

They stood at a steep cliff, Varda still towered over them but she had shrunk her form just a little as to not hit her head on the open gates as she stepped outside.

In the far distance, too far for even elven eyes to see, there stood Aulë's forge. High above, nearly invisible against the silver sky, a tiny light twinkled. And then impacted with such force, the fields where clouded for a moment.

Mairon could not clearly see anything else but Aulë whistled appreciatively and Varda clapped her hands together. “I still got it,” she nodded and turned back to her palace. “I shall be looking forward to your visit, dear friend.”

“As do I, my queen.”

She tittered a silver laugh, “Very well. Greet your wife for me.” And with that she was gone, the doors closed soundlessly behind her.

Aulë hummed, turned his head and patted Mairon's head, “Shall we be going?”

Mairon smiled.

The journey home was faster.

They stood on the highest point of the stairs, Valinor beneath them, stretched out in every direction. The steep drop continued thousands of feet. It was Aulë who went first; Throwing himself off the sharp cliff.

Mairon did not hesitate to follow him and together they hurtled through the air like falling stars themselves.

Mairon laughed. The wind pulled at his hair, the ground yawned wide beneath them, like a maw wishing to devour them. Gravity wished them to fall until not even dust would remain from their fall.

It held no sway over them.

Mairon and Aulë burst into flames, great infernos which pulled up before the ground came even close and streaked across the sky.

There was no need for words, only the desire to fly faster, ever faster until the very air around them blazed as well. Horizontal whirlwinds of fire and grace, blasting apart the clouds which floated about like lazy beasts.

When last had Mairon flown like this? All logic abandoned, merely chasing behind his master, overtaking him, getting chased and giving pursuit. He shrieked with laughter, a brilliant flame that rolled about the silver skies like a playful wisp. Unburdened, uncaring. Free.

If Mairon had cared for the passing of time, he would have known that the journey to Ilmarin had taken months. The track back took but minutes.

They both landed on the fields, blasted apart earth like Aulë and his Maiar had done countless times before. Dirt and sand, turned to baked clay and glass got thrown around.

And then they where home.

There was silence, only broken by the sound of debris raining down around them.

It was Mairon who toppled over into laughter all over again, still fully unraveled by the speed of their journey.

Aulë smirked and joined in until they supported each other. “Ai,” said Aulë after a while. But he stopped in the next moment, much to Mairon's surprise. “I forgot something,” Aulë said and turned his head about as if to listen to something. Perhaps he did, Mairon could not be certain. "Yes, I forgot all about it, that was my fault. But I shall take care of it."

Then, Aulë smiled. “I advise courage for what follows next.”

Before Mairon could ask his master to elaborate, the earth shook. The ground trembled and shook and finally split open.

Plants, vines and ivy sprouted forth, anchoring themselves to the edges of this newly created gouge. And another Ainu lifted herself out of the ground.

Yavanna did not look happy. Neigh, she looked rather furious to be precise.

“WHO OF YOU SORRY SODS BURNED MY **GARDEN**?!” Yavanna thundered like the vengeful god she sometimes was.

The thunder that followed silenced the birds and made the air feel quite clammy. It was not often that one of the Valar could be witnessed in their anger. Mostly because there would be precious little left to tell the tale.

Aulë pointed his finger so fast to Mairon that the air ruffled Mairon's hair, “Mairon did,” Aulë informed his wife without hesitation.

Betrayed, Mairon whimpered as Yavanna looked upon him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one expects Yavanna!


	6. Tea

One would only need to behold Yavanna to know a few things. Mostly that running was, most likely, futile. Mairon still entertained the idea of trying in the same abstract way with which you contemplated sticking your head into the molten glass that always stood at the ready in Aulë's furnace. But as it was, Mairon was not even able to gather his thoughts enough to try.

He turned to Aulë who smiled a placid smile, wondering just why he had been sold out like this.

Aulë seemed none too torn up about the fact and instead patted Mairon's shoulder. “You're welcome.”

What mockery was this?

Yavanna lunged, _pounced_ upon poor Mairon who had not even time to shriek in the face of his imminent demise.

Then, she looped her arms around him and _squeezed_ him tightly, motherly, into her bosom. Mairon hung in her arms, suspended inches above the ground, toes just shy of brushing the ground. She turned towards her husband and _swung_ Mairon with her, the Maia dangling helplessly.

“You should be ashamed, Aulë. Poor Mairon does not need your teasing, can you not see the child is already in shambles?” she shook her head and pressed Mairon ever tighter against herself to convey all that endless _love_ until Mairon could not move any longer. Made immobile by love, how terrible indeed. “You should know better by now as to blame your pupils on everything.”

Mairon's arms bend backwards at the shoulder, his spine curved inwards at the waist and he let out a most undignified squeak as he was being mercilessly mauled by _love_.

Aulë offered no reply and instead merely tilted his head in shame, ears hanging.

There where quite some words, few of which Mairon heard in his position. And then, just like that, he was released.

Yavanna, still glowering at her husband, freed the wrung out Maia who tumbled to his knees. Tutting, she stroked his hair and snorted at Aulë who bowed his head so she could not see his smirk.

“I am sorry, love,” Aulë offered.  
  
“You better be; I will know if you are not,” she threatened and waggled her finger. Turning to Mairon, she smiled warmly and kind, not at all cross with him, “If he teases you too badly, feel free to tell me. It is of course my duty as husband-wrangler to keep him under control.”

Mairon wheezed.

Yavanna turned again, this time to her husband, “I expect reparations, Aulë.”

“Yes, dear.”

“All the flowers need to be replanted.”

“Yes, dear.”

“The moss too.”

“Yes, dear.”

“I shall await you on the morrow, your rock will have to wait.” Yavanna turned towards the fallen star and hummed as they watched Aulë's Maiar climb around the rough, porous surface like curious felines. Some had already managed to make their way inside and from time to time one of them would bat playfully at one of his brethren outside, protected from retaliation by hard, unyielding space-rock. All in all a productive day.

“Ah, but it is Mairon's rock,” said Aulë, triumph seeping into his otherwise so carefully humbled voice. “It would hardly do to have him wait unjustly for my actions, would it not?”

“Are you trying to wriggle out of responsibility, Aulë? Because let me tell you, I have little tolerance for wriggly things that destroy my garden.” She looked ready to twist his ear, how fortunate that Aulë was much taller than her in their current form.

Aulë smiled into his beard, “Oh, _never_ , love.”

Mairon, master over his extremities once more, cleared his throat, “Actually, master...I was thinking...” He looked at Yavanna and Aulë and swallowed. “I was thinking—Maybe I should visit Annatar...It has been a while since I saw him.”

“A wonderful idea,” Yavanna chimed in, “You visit your brother, I have my husband to myself for a while; We all win.”

Aulë said nothing but smiled a secret, adoring smile into the privacy of his beard. He could hardly play the unwilling craftsman when she put it like that, could he? “Very well, Mairon. Visit your brother and learn of the things he has accomplished. And don't burn down their garden, they don't like that.”

“ _I_ relate whole-heartedly,” said Yavanna and sidled up to Aulë as they watched Mairon hurry into the workshop to prepare for his departure.

“Ah, you know,” said Aulë and wrinkled his brow in thought, “I am beginning to see a theme throughout my exploits. Mainly that people do not like burned topiary.”

“A good lesson,” Yavanna agreed.

* * *

Mahtan, quite used to loud explosions, had not been faced by the meteorite impacting only a few hundred feet away from him.

But he was glad that his grandson, most likely not quite as used to such everyday insanity, had already left. It would not do to have them spooked away, they would never visit again.  
  
What Mahtan was not used to, however, was Mairon not glued to either his anvil or their master and so, when Mairon stepped inside Mahtan's private rooms, the elf had to double-take, unable to hide his obvious disbelieve. How impolite. He straightened himself out, smoothed out his clothing and faced his visitor.

Mairon approached, shuffling awkwardly once he stood as close as Mahtan could ever remember him doing so without lists being involved, “I have a favour to ask.”

He had heard that right, had he? How curious. “Unusual. Is something the matter?”

Mairon hesitated but shook his head. “I will be... travelling abroad—I don't know how long. I need to have someone hold onto the key to my workshop whilst I'm gone.”

  
“ _Someone_ , who is not you, is supposed, nay, allowed to have your workshop.” Perhaps the world _had_ gone mad. Gone off-kilter by the impact of the meteorite.

“Yes? I would think you would not abuse my trust. Or Curumo, I think."

“I can certainly do that. I was merely surprised.”

Mairon nodded, stepped closer and handed him the shiny key.

Mahtan watched him leave, wondering just what had happened. Perhaps he had been too hasty in his decision to store away his tea-set. He would need another cup and after that, hopefully, the world would make sense again.


	7. Epilogue

There was something relaxing about making one's own meals. Well, not all of them, he was a terribly busy elf.

But his late night snack Celebrimbor always prepared himself. Partly because he liked to do so, the art of fixing food was, after all, just another way to express himself artistically. And second because every cook would have had some choice words for their king, should he waltz into their rooms to demand food in the middle of the night.

How fortunate that he had found two partners in crime who where willing to stay up with him and raid the kitchens. Raiding the kitchens was a long, proud tradition handed along from his father who, in turn, had learned it from his own. Perhaps Fëanor too had picked up this habit from his own father, though perhaps Celebrimbor would never know. It was just as well.

Annatar had a cup standing before him on the table, not yet filled with tea, for the water still needed to boil and tea needed to be prepared.

Erthornil had decided on a piece of celery and Annatar, now having their son on his lap, had indulged him by allowing Erthornil to have at the green stalk with a knife. The leaves had been shredded more than they had been cut and the white, unappetising part still hung on for dear life.

“Oh, my dear; What shall we do? We will be obsolete.” Sighed Annatar who had watched his son flail around with pointy objects, ears forward and golden eyes alert as to not have someone get poked. “Soon our little prince will not need us any longer to cut him his carrot sticks...” Or celery, in this case.

Though for now Erthornil hardly minded the help, it seemed. Annatar, who covered Erthornil's tiny hands with his own, took care to hold the knife and the celery just so that Erthornil felt included. The already mutilated stalk was cut in twain, the white part left on the cutting board while Erthornil began crunching

“Retire?” asked Celebrimbor and stirred his cheese. There was an art to a proper rarebit. Art was a euphemism for at least two cloves of garlic per piece of bread. How Celebrimbor had lucked out, finding a husband who did not banish him to the couch because he reeked to high heaven of garlic from time to time. Yes, Annatar, able to shift his senses to a degree that garlic smelled no fouler than crisp mountain air was truly a god-sent gift in every sense of the word.

Behind him, on the stove where another kettle murmured quietly to itself, waited crisped bread, all toasted and awaiting the final steps to complete preparation.

“Isn't that a thought?” asked Annatar and sighed, “We could move into the lake cabin. Oh, Tyelpe, just think; Only _you_ and _me_ and the odd dozen or so of our most loyal servants.And the crown would look so well on him, don't you think?”

Celebrimbor chuckled where he stood, “Don't get ahead of yourself, my dear. My circlet does not even fit him yet.”

Erthornil, fully unaware of the scheming that went over his head, crunched his celery and wiggled around until Annatar set him down. Then, in a determined bee-line, he made for his elven father, the celery _crunch-crunch-crunching_ all the while. Celebrimbor leaned down, wooden spoon still in one hand, and stroked Erthornil's head before turning back to his food. Garlic filled the air, the kettle began to whistle insistingly and Erthornil gripped his father's blue robe while he ate.

The cheese was ready, intuition born from repetition, Celebrimbor knew to watch for the signs. He took the pot and turned to drench his bread in it. A sensible king would have transferred the cheese from pot to decorative bowl and then delicately spooned melted cheese onto his bread. Celebrimbor snorted, tilted the pot and left no inch of bread visible.

Annatar, witnessing the merciless drowning, got up to fill his teapot, humming merrily. And then he did not.

Celebrimbor turned from his creation to see why his husband had quieted all of a sudden, the absence of Annatar's hums deafening. “Is everything alright?”

Annatar nodded, “I could have sworn--” he turned and put the kettle onto a decorated pot holder. He turned and hurried out of the kitchen without another word.

“A-Annatar?” Celebrimbor called after the fast retreating form of his husband. When there was no answer nor explanation forthcoming, Celebrimbor scooped up Erthornil who still had a good third of celery left and made his way after his wayward husband.

* * *

He rounded a corner, towards one of the open balconies, just too late to see what exactly happened. But he could hear Annatar's excited call. This alone spurred him on.

Erthornil bit into the last few inches of celery, the injured green plant fibre squirted grassy smelling droplets onto Celebrimbor's cheek. “Ai,” said Celebrimbor, startled from his thoughts and playfully squeezed Erthornil's nose between his fingers until the child shrieked with laughter.

“Is he ripping that child's nose off?” came the question from the balcony and Celebrimbor, indignant, made to turn around and rebuke such rudeness.

There stood Annatar, embracing another Maia which struck Celebrimbor as odd, considering Annatar usually held them not in the highest regard.

“Oh, but of course not. It's a harmless little game, isn't it, dear?” Annatar said.

“Right,” confirmed Celebrimbor. “And you are?”

Annatar answered for the visitor, golden eyes alight, “How impolite of me, let me introduce you; Mairon, Celebrimbor my husband; Celebrimbor, Mairon my brother.”

To Erthornil who looked dismayed down onto his empty hands, likely mourning his celery-less state, he crooned and gathered him up. “And this, my darling, is your uncle.”

Erthornil looked at Mairon who tried to smile in the least awkward manner possible. Erthornil did not look particularly put off and waved heartily enough to nearly smack Annatar in the face, “Mab.”

Mairon bowed, “Greetings. I apologise for assuming the tearing of any noses was taking place here.”

“No harm done,” said Celebrimbor. “Annatar, when exactly did you plan on telling me you had a brother?”

“I forgot,” grinned Annatar slyly and laughed at their faces.

It was as good of a start for Mairon's visit as any.


End file.
